#rest assured everyone is there

[killjoystrashcan]

Modern Au: A birthday party

Some polaroids taken at the twins name day celebration. some were ready for pictures, some were not.

Some headcanon that come with this AU

-everyone is human

-rciel’s ‘stitches’ are actually tattoos (he did not get permission to get them)

-ociel’s left eye is due to an injury

- their birthday is the only time the undertaker is allowed to be at Sebastians house (seb thinks he’s a bad influence on rciel)

-in this movie, they are happy and healthy. Use it as a break from the trauma that is the actual canon.

[thriftybruce]

Until the mountains crumble to the sea

Extra Doodle Below the Cut and Script:

Script:

Page 1:

Fiddleford: O' c'mon stop fussin' you big ol' lug! It ain't that big of a deal...

'Sides, you kept complaining 'bout how your shoulder was actin' up all day!!

Stan: Well yeah! But I always lead...

Fiddleford: There! Isn't this much better?

Stan: Hmm.

Page 2

Fiddleford: Stan.

Stan: Yeah?

Fiddleford: Who sings this song again?

Stan: Uhm...Oh! Uh Cass Elliot! Yeah, Cass Elliot...

Fiddleford: Ah. Well...she sounds lovely...

This is a nice night.

Stan: Yeah.

Page 3

(There is no written dialogue for this page. The only written portions are the lyrics, which eventually fade out.)

Extra Doodle

Fiddleford: Stan, are you crying?!

Stan: Yes! Er- I mean no! I mean maybe? I'm sorry! The song got to me! Curse you Cass Elliot! You and your delightful singing!

[prettycoolducks]

These Resident Evil doodles I dug up are so old they may even be from before the dlc was released

[swordinhand]

i got so deeply enraptured with trying to figure out which restaurant jobs the dunmeshi cast would have that i forgot to check the speed on the industrial strength floor mixer i was using at MY kitchen job and sprayed mayo everywhere. anyways.

senshi would be the senior sous chef that everyone likes and respects way more than the actual chef. he does menu planning and uses cool local ingredients that put the restaurant on the food scene map. the boss you wish you had. laios is a dishwasher but he REALLY REALLY wants to learn line so he spends a lot of time asking the cooks questions. comes in on his day off to watch senshi do menu planning. friends with all the waitresses even though they think he's kinda weird b/c he's too busy being a freak to back of house crew to bother them. chilchuck is the prep lead. he's the best at precision so his consistency is through the roof and his knife work is perfect. the prep hall is his domain and he's got all these janky ways of making it accessible bc the kitchen wasn't built for halflings. champion of worker's rights and makes sure all the first aid stuff is properly organized.

marcille is the front of house manager who's been working there since she was a teenager. sometimes shitty customers will underestimate her and try to fuck with the waitstaff but she takes no nonsense whatsoever. new hires will think she's got beef with the cooks but their banter is just next level. bffs with senshi. (edit: she's in magic school but also has a fuckass minor in management so she's perpetually trying to bring in her course theories while everyone rolls their eyes and carries on). falin i think works mostly with senshi to procure the uncommon ingredients he wants to use. she's also trained as a bartender so she'll step in occasionally but most of the time she's off talking to suppliers or tending the herb gardens out back.

the mad sorcerer is the head chef and he only works opening shift so no one ever sees him and cannot for the life of them tell what he contributes to the kitchen.

the restaurant is called the dungeon.

[frootbyethefoot]

stay curious, stay weird, stay kind

[ID: a digital lineless drawing of mabel pines, dipper pines, stan pines, and ford pines from gravity falls in a pink, blue, and white color palette, all with happy expressions on their faces. the background is pure black with a rainbow in the background. END ID/]

individual characters under the read more! happy pride!

[queermasculine]

getting a lot of questions starting with "am i allowed to call myself" or "am i allowed to be," and my response to those questions is always yes, you're allowed. that's the short answer. the longer and truer answer is buddy, i don't even know if i'm "allowed." not sure i even know what that means. i just know i identify with my chosen labels strongly enough that being challenged on them isn't really a factor in whether i use them or not, and i wish for you the same kind of conviction. because no matter what labels you pick, someone out there's gonna take issue with it. you gotta find words you're willing to hold on to despite that.

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

le dragon rouge: rosquez [e]

“Grandmother,” Valentino drawls out. Marc’s fangs gleam, wicked—he can’t stop staring. They’re smaller than he had imagined. Sharper, very white. “What big teeth you have got.”

Marc lets out a snort. Doesn’t smile and doesn’t blink either. “All the better to eat you with.”

It’s—disquieting. It is also disquieting when he does it in press conferences, or when he’s listening hard to whatever bullshit Valentino is saying, but nothing softens the blow here. Marc’s attention falls over him intensely, scrapes along his nerves.

Hungry—which happens to be the crux of their current issue.

Valentino is thinking about it—Little Red Riding Hood. Being eaten. Same difference. Marc’s mouth is close, is the thing, and bitten pink. Almost pretty enough to distract him from what it hides, how his voice comes out lisped through his teeth.

It sounds a bit goofy, except everything Valentino can see is how ashen his face looks, the marble motionless of his posture.

He’s acutely, unfortunately aware of his heartbeat on his jugular, also.

Valentino is not surprised by anything that has happened thus far. It was right there on his files— MÁRQUEZ, Marc: vampire, 21 years old . So no, not surprised.

And he caught Marc feeding, once. On a fucking club bathroom, a girl in a mini green dress pressed between him and the grimy wall. She was screaming, but no, not that away. Less like she had teeth on her throat draining her dry, more like she had a couple of fingers in her cunt.

So sue him, he is a little curious.

“Valentino,” Marc says, doing a terrible job of trying to look steady with his huge, liquid eyes and the pinched tight press of his lips, like he’s salivating and wants to hide it. “Are you—ok?”

“Yep,” he pops the p obnoxiously. Makes himself grin. “Come on, food is getting cold.”

“Hmm—okay.”

It doesn’t sound very certain. Valentino is pretty sure he should be offended.

Marc bends down to hover over him anyway, pressing Valentino against the bed, chest on chest, worse than chains. His thighs had been cold, braced around his hips, but he’s fucking freezing —like metal left out in the winter. He can feel the hair on his standing on end. His little flinch, trapped under him.

It’s June in Spain, he shouldn’t burn like ice. It makes no sense.

The cold is better than looking at Marc, though. Easier. Kid’s—whatever, a predator species, something bad and wicked, but he doesn’t usually look like that. Doesn’t usually look like much of anything unless he’s up on a bike and taking them all for idiots.

And he’s terribly sweet for Valentino too.

He isn’t sweet in this bed. Eyes too dark, with an inorganic, lifeless glint to them. Body too still, never fidgeting, every move deliberate, seamless.

Valentino had read about it once—uncanny valley. That there had to be a reason for humans to be afraid of things that look like them but aren’t them.

Marc’s nose brushes against the hollow of his throat. Valentino swallows around nothing—mouth dry and sour. His pulse spikes. He wonders how much of that the vampire nuzzling him can feel, smooths out a scoff before it bursts out of chest.

“It’s alright,” Marc aims for soothing and misses it by a mile. He’s panting, and each word sounds like it was pried laboriously from his mouth. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Valentino laughs. Can’t help it, or how gravelly it sounds. “I thought that was the point.”

Marc huffs. The chill of his face pressed on the side of his neck is like a naked blade. 

“No, it isn’t.”

There’s this something tugging under his skin. Not fear—well, not only fear, Valentino has an alright sense of preservation for a moto rider, and he isn’t exactly thrilled by pain—but still there. Prodding like thorns.

Annoyance, except he doesn’t know why, doesn’t know anything other than the fact it makes him itchy, restless. He’s a pinned butterfly, the sheets creaking under him.

Marc’s lips skim over his carotid, icy, a little cruel—which is new. Horrible. And horrible in the way it makes his stomach clench. Valentino sucks in a rattling breath. His tongue might as well be glued to the roof of his mouth.

“I can find someone else.” Marc inches away from him, tries to get up.

Valentino clamps his hand on the back of Marc’s neck, watches him jolt like a live wire. “You don’t want to,” he says, thrumming, runrunrun instinct screaming at him—he sounds catlike still. A little steelier than he’d planned to. “I think you want to eat me real bad.”

Marc makes a noise—helpless, half-choked, amused. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well. It’s polite to ask.”

“Please, please,” he mutters, a laugh threaded into it. Because of course Marc wouldn’t be ashamed of begging—Valentino chews on the inside of his cheek until it aches, something white-hot pulsing through him. “May I bite you?”

May I . Proper little boy, isn’t he?

Valentino lolls his neck to the side. “Be my guest.”

He sounds very magnanimous. It’s almost a joke, another one, and Marc—

Marc grabs his chin. Bears down on his shoulder to keep him in place. Valentino thought—he thought he’d hesitate a lot more. He doesn’t know why he did.

Then there are teeth.

It hurts. It really fucking hurts. Valentino makes a noise, strangled, like he’s sawed off a chunk of his tongue. Cold sweeps over him—worse than an ice bath after Sepang, the shock making his body seize and spasm.

Marc might as well be raking teeth over his raw nerve endings. Injecting him with poison.

Too much to feel, and barely anything he can untangle. Barely anything he wants to untangle. Valentino’s head goes taffy thick, fuzzy around the edges. His vision blurs, breaking in blocks of color and little else.

He would flinch if he could. Maybe. Or maybe not. As that haze rises, Valentino relaxes muscle by muscle, and he might as well go down a drain, bones liquid, that jolt of nauseous fear bled out of him along his consciousness. Ha .

Marc moans, a quiet, wrecked little noise, halfway to a sob, like he does when Valentino is mean to him, pushing in his spit-slick cock after quali and pressing his face against a wall to keep him quiet.

Everything about him is still cold , glacial, except his frantic tongue on his neck. That feels scorching, and Christ, Valentino isn’t sure about pain anymore. It’s a blurry, feverish thing crawling under his skin. Too much. Too big. Valentino isn’t sure about pleasure either.

There’s only Marc, and that wet sucking sound right against his ear. He laps Valentino up, hungry and fucking shameless about it.

He feels his heart pumping, feels his blood moving the wrong way inside his veins—into Marc. It’s the most in-his-body Valentino has ever been.

A high, keening groan echoes between them, through the pounding in Valentino’s head. It has to be coming from him. He can’t stop it, or close his mouth, or think about moving. Valentino sinks— ah , ah , ah , dizzy when he tries to figure out he’s hurting, or not hurting, or feeling good.

He’s shaking. Like that one time when he brushed against a live wire by accident and couldn’t unclench his hand, stood there jolting until Stefania pushed him.

It sizzles inside—that feeling he can’t name, like an orgasm that just won’t quit until Valentino can’t decide if it’s great or worse than a knife between his ribs.

Valentino drifts on nothing. Time drips around him, and his blood drips into Marc. Marc who’s starving, who doesn’t ever care about stopping. Valentino is getting wrangled like his Honda on the corners, bent to his will. He laughs about it. Tries to.

Marc would eat him whole. He would.

And it isn’t great , but Valentino lets himself be taken over, fights to keep his eyes open—so he can look at the ceiling. At the tanned sliver of skin on Marc’s nape.

Everything spins. Loses meaning.

It all comes crashing down when Marc lets go of him. Valentino blinks, his eyes gritty—shudders, too. Entire chunks of his body are unresponsive, numb.

Marc presses his face against his chest, stays there. He’s panting, shoulders heaving with it, fever-hot to the touch and thrumming with wild energy. Can’t seem to stop fidgeting above Valentino, his fingers restless on the bones of his collar, back and forth and back and forth, right where it pushes against his skin.

Slowly, with Marc keeping him pinned to the bed, Valentino realizes his vision has focused again.

His senses come back to him one by one—the cool, smooth sheets under him, the rancid yellow lamplight, Marc’s strong things braced around him, the staleness in his mouth, the metallic smell thick and soupy in the air.

Marc leans back. Still fucking disquieting—except not quite. His cheeks are flushed pink. There’s red all over his lips, all over his chin, messy like when Valentino hooks his fingers into the babyfat of his cheeks and makes him show the come on his tongue, tells him to not swallow. He isn’t stone, or cold metal, or motionless.

And his eyes. They’ve gone from unnatural to searing, dark as pitch.

Alive. Hard to miss it when he was so other before.

It’s pretty. Reminds Valentino of that one time he saw an eagle pluck a kitten from the side of the road in Tavullia, the glossy blackness of its feathers.

Marc shifts again on his lap. It hits him like being highsided into the asphalt. Valentino scrambles for air, his cock oversensitive in the cooling stickiness inside his underwear. He had—

“Uh.”

“I’m sorry,” Marc snorts, not sounding sorry at all. He’s rubbing himself against his thigh, Valentino realizes. Looking fucking obscene about it, his budge fat and heavy, straining against his shorts. “It happens sometimes.”

“Alright,” he says eloquently, in an ugly jumble of syllables. Lets his eyes linger. “Aren’t you going to do anything about it.”

It isn’t a question.

So Marc immediately shimmies out of his clothes—awkward, overeager—and wraps a hand around the big cock he doesn’t fucking use for anything because he acts like he’s going to die without Valentino inside him.

He’s flushed dark, wet . Valentino isn’t sure he wants it—but he’s thinking about it anyway, Marc’s thick dick in his ass and Marc’s teeth on his throat, all at once. Being eaten. Consumed. All of it. If he could, he’d scorch that thought to ash, and his tacky underwear too.

His next breath comes out funny, a little choked. Marc, uncaring godling that he is, throws his head back, opens his mouth to moan.

He works his hand like he’s on time attack, no finesse—ruts against it, in this ugly, brash desperation that Valentino can’t help but stare at. It’s too soon, and he might not have enough blood for an erection, but his own cock twitches anyway. The pain of it is like being pricked with a needle.

Marc didn’t want to stop—he knows that. Would’ve loved to drink him dry, keep him for himself, hishishis in the gore in his stomach. It makes Valentino clammy, jittery. It also makes Valentino think about cutting him open, burrowing in.

All the way up to his elbow. Or mouth first—have them match.

“You needed it,” Valentino hisses. It’s easier to say than you could’ve killed me .

“I did—fuck, you’re so—l don’t how you let—”

Valentino doesn’t like what Marc is about to say. He hooks his fingers inside his gore-splattered mouth, right over his retracting fangs. They’re shaking, chilly, an uncoordinated weight. Marc clearly doesn’t care—garbles out this reedy noise, eyelashes fluttering low over his cheeks, and tries to sink his teeth in.

“Don’t,” Valentino hisses.

Marc goes wide-eyed, nods. He’s sweet like this, almost.

“Can I—,” he asks frantically, in a slur of words, leaking all over his hand.

Valentino toys with saying no , just to see if he’d cry, or get angry, or ignore him and keep going. Lets it shine through in his face. Marc whines, his dangerous mouth wobbling pitifully. That smooths the unkindness unfurling in his chest like an overgrown rose bush, all thorns.

“Of course,” Valentino croons, remarkably gentle, in rehearsed showmanship.

Gentleness comes easy with Marc’s leash in his hand. Easier at his harsh, stuttered, “ Valentino ,” when he sweeps a calloused thumb over the head of his cock.

Marc topples forward, curled above him, the blood on his chin drying brown and stark against his skin, the pale scar running there. The blood on Valentino’s throat is fresh, though, still dripping sluggishly on the sheets. His head is light, untethered, running in manic racehorse circles around Christ, Christ, Christ .

Each time he blinks, his eyes feel sandy, and his skin is clammy, underwear scraping along his dick, but he’s wired wrong under Marc’s second-hand heat—hungry too. Reckless with it.

“You’d take anything I gave you, no?” He hums genially, the words cracking like a whip between them, Marc scrambling to nod. “Whore.”

It drips honeyed from his lips— puttana .

When Marc comes, he does it with a small, wounded noise, jaw twitching. But Valentino told him no, so he doesn’t bite. Just shakes, pants open-mouthed and wanting, with his come trickling over Valentino’s chest. His eyes plead, and he clings to that, to the uncomplicated cruelty that this opens up.

Tomorrow, Valentino will get rid of everything—the bloody sheets, his clothes, the ache in his veins at Marc’s wicked, white fangs and the fat weight of his soft, come-tacky cock.

Tomorrow, for sure.

[tojiscrack]

today’s the one year anniversary of liar, liar’s release (the first ever chapter — kindergarten) 🥹

unfortunately, i’m on a five month hiatus, therefore i wasn’t able to write a new chapter to celebrate 365 days of LL’s release ☹️ all i can give you now is a small message just letting you know how much i appreciate the fact that you’re still here — both old and new readers 💞

i genuinely can’t believe that a year ago, i published the first chapter of a (currently incomplete) story that would then change the course of my life — not to be dramatic, but it genuinely has 🥹 the interactions i’ve had with every single one you have genuinely lifted my ever-depressing mood from something brooding (borderline malakai-brooding 😭) to something that made me genuinely look forward to being online.

i can’t promise that the story will end quickly. and maybe that’s a good thing, ‘cause i can’t remember a better time to be on the internet except when i’m with you guys (and lockdown 2020, ‘cause that was a time for us anime fans) but i hope every single one of you will be here till the end to see what i have in store for you.

i can’t wait to be officially back in june.

happy one year anniversary to the story that tied our fates together 💜

[starsandwriting]

moodboard titled Just Listened To The Silt Verses Episode 43: One Last Song Of Revelations:

[geezmarty]

commission update for both those who have commissioned or looking to commission!

I'm wrapping up the last batch which should all be sent out within the next 3 weeks

I will be open again in a week or two! I will make a proper post then but this time you can expect more options 💐

[short666bread]

🪄🎩🐇✨

[piningpercussionist]

As densely packed as I could tolerate making it- Roxie doodles! (Vast majority of these are from several weeks ago I'm not gonna lie,,)

[bigeloo]

[cutely hits Magnus with a couple of animal beams]

[knifebaby3000]

“cemetery drive”, 27 may 2023

[mymarifae]

this was so fucked btw. he was specifically going after tribbie and trinnon because trianne had all but exhausted her divine powers and was just a normal little girl at this point. but she was so desperate to save them that she managed to pull out one last burst of power, setting those last few embers of her soul ablaze and functionally killing herself. and she was just so small and so scared like she was losing more and more of her memories of being part of Tribios The Demigod so she probably just barely understood what was happening at this point...... she just wanted to save her sisters and her best friends. what the FUCK

[hannibalbabygirlifier]

Sorry I saw a post about narratives around grief and how it changes the course of the whole thing and the format and I’m thinking about Roche path again because it makes me crazyyy. CRAZY!! how some random guys immense life altering grief is such a force of nature the main character literally just gets dragged along for the ride on a plotline that mostly doesn’t even have anything to do with him and really overall sidetracks him from his own life and problems for the entire middle section of a three part narrative. Ough.